Threads of the Old and New
The first thing she had ever killed was a rabbit, and she cried for a week after. But as the march of years progressed, the gravity of her transgressions swelled, an ominous crescendo echoing through her troubled existence; at the tender age of eight, she had killed a squirrel, and eventually a stray cat. She cried for two more weeks. It wasn’t her, she had to remind herself, for the sake of her own adolescent sanity. It wasn't her who hurt those animals—it was the monster, relentless and thriving, reveling in its merciless deeds under the twelve full moons that glazed each passing year. In vain, she wrestled for control over its nefarious actions, only to find herself helpless, a mere puppet ensnared by its insatiable and predatory nature.
Amidst the gravity of the situation, a glimmer of irony danced upon the stage of her thoughts, for the Danger Classification XXXXX creature—deemed a dire menace to humanity and pernicious to any human contact—was, in fact, an eleven-year-old girl who, a mere year prior, harbored fear of the dark, and regarded her father as her best friend. The jarring juxtaposition between the alleged savagery attributed to this entity and the purity and vulnerability of an evolving child seemed almost like a theatrical spectacle, a farce born from the incongruity of it all.
As the sands of time flowed ceaselessly, the recollection of her Turning persisted, indelibly etched in her psyche, an unyielding and disquieting presence that refused to dissipate. A dense veil of ignominy and self-condemnation enshrouded her, an inescapable facet of her identity that haunted her relentlessly, without respite. Its unrelenting grip seemed destined to remain an integral part of her existence, a burden that she could never fully shed.
Presently, she found herself unable to fight the ceaseless replay of that pivotal moment of her powerlessness, the acrid aftertaste of defeat still vividly present. The terror that permeated that memory trailed her incessantly, like a menacing and indelible storm cloud, a constant reminder of her vulnerability. A haunting tableau played out incessantly within her mind, an unrelenting loop of vivid mental imagery that plagued her without respite. She was held captive by this ever-moving panorama, forced to bear witness to her own vulnerability, unable to halt its merciless reign:
The fear that engulfed her was so overwhelming that she struggled to grasp its magnitude as the piercing, hollow gaze of the man locked onto hers. Her chest seized, and she found herself gasping for air, as if her lungs had been crushed underfoot. Her heart ached for comfort, yet her voice remained imprisoned by an unyielding stone-like obstruction in her throat, rendering her cries unheard.
His delusional presence loomed as a sinister horror, penetrating the depths of her being with chilling intensity. Like a malevolent predator, his fangs sank into the tender fibers of her spine, slicing through with merciless precision, reopening the wounds that had barely begun to heal. The agony of vulnerability engulfed her once again, searing through her like a relentless inferno, leaving her raw and exposed to his twisted influence.
With every resurgence of the memory, its grip on her psyche proved unwavering, the terror relentless and undiminished by the passage of time or the advancing years of her life. It clung to her soul like an unhealable wound, an open gash that defied closure. In the depths of her mind, she would be thrust back into that harrowing moment, her senses jolted into the past, only to be abruptly yanked back into the present reality where the menacing specter of Fenrir Greyback no longer loomed over her, his touch reduced to an inaccessible and impossible memory.
"Are we late?" Dad's words burst forth, accompanied by an impulsive jerk of his arm, swiftly revealing the rolled-up sleeve of his faded beige jumper. His watch was time-worn, adorned with scars of countless years that matched the ones on his hands. Before he could ascertain the answer, she swiftly intercepted, her fingers intercepting his in a gentle swat.
"We're on time, Dad,” with a graceful gesture, she directed his attention to the regal timepiece that presided over the bustling train station. The clock, adorned in resplendent crimson hues, held court above them, its ticking hands orchestrating the symphony of departure and arrival. Surrounding them, the atmosphere teemed with animated families, exchanging heartfelt farewells, joyous children embarking on adventures, and proud fathers sporting beaming smiles. In the midst of this familial tapestry, she maintained a deliberate detachment, avoiding the gaze that threatened to stir dormant emotions. Here, in this moment, all she needed was the simplicity of their bond—her and Dad, Dad and her—tethered together amidst the ebb and flow of life's grand tapestry.
Before her, he gracefully descended to one knee, an act infused with purpose and meaning. With hands tender yet resolute, he clasped hers, their fingers intertwining in a testament to unwavering support. His gaze, filled with earnestness, locked onto hers, carrying a weight of profound importance.
"You are an intelligent young lady, Reese. Do not let someone else's interpretation of 'normal' deter you from your ambitions. You are better than allowing anybody to make you feel inferior to anyone else. Now, we talked about what you need to do when the time comes. Do not let it slip your mind."
Her head nodded, a deliberate motion echoing her understanding. His mournful smile, tinged with a hint of melancholy, graced his lips as his hands, imbued with gentle strength, found solace upon her shoulders. His touch conveyed an embrace of both reassurance and tenderness. "You will find others who understand, I promise. If not, at least I understand."
In a tender surrender, Reese dissolved into the Lupin embrace, a sanctuary she yearned to remain within indefinitely. His arms, infused with warmth and tenderness, enfolded her in an all-encompassing cocoon of security, akin to the comforting embrace of a freshly-laundered blanket on a rainy day. Within this haven, the weight of her anxieties lifted, dissipating into the ether, as a surge of serotonin coursed through her veins, bathing her spirit in tranquility. In that ephemeral yet precious moment, she found herself at the pinnacle of serenity, cradled in the arms of solace.
"Did you?" she asked, her voice muffled against his shoulder.
"Hm?"
"Did you find others who understood?"
Silence hung heavy, that pregnant pause where words might fall into a void of emptiness. But then, she felt it—a subtle, assuring nod.
"Yes," he murmured, his arms gradually releasing their hold, now cradling her face in his calloused palms. His eyes, dark and expressive, remained unmasked by the diagonal scar that mirrored her own. In that singular moment, a profound gratitude welled within her, for the serendipitous encounter with someone whose differences only served to underscore their shared essence. It was as if destiny had woven their lives together, guiding them through the peculiarities of existence as intertwined souls. In that bond, superficial dissimilarities held no sway, for they were united by a connection that transcended all boundaries.
"But you must also trust yourself." He tapped a finger lightly against her chest. "Relying on others, no matter how trustworthy they seem, is not a panacea. You are independent, my dearest girl. Harness it."
Reese basked in the radiance of her father's eloquence, captivated by the effortless grace with which his words cascaded forth. Each syllable carried the weight of ancient wisdom, as if he channeled the sagacity of sages long past. In his presence, she felt an undeniable sense of importance, cherished and valued beyond measure.
Leaving a tender kiss upon her forehead, he bestowed upon her a blessing woven with threads of love and caution, a gentle reminder to tread the path of safety and to wield her independence with discernment. With unwavering resolve, he rose to his full stature, an embodiment of fortitude, hands finding their natural repose within his pockets. "I love you. Stay safe and be smart."
As Reese ventured towards her designated train compartment, surrounded by the bustling energy of fellow young wizards, an unsettling sense of displacement settled upon her shoulders. The weight of her differences, like an invisible burden, began to make its presence known, weighing her spirit down. With a heavy sigh, she sank into the seat, her father's figure gradually fading into the misty window, leaving her to confront the solitary journey that lay ahead.
As Reese eased herself into the plush seat of the train, the weight of her differences nestled within her, settling like an unwelcome companion. Surrounded by a throng of fellow wizards, she couldn't help but feel an acute sense of isolation, a solitary figure adrift amidst a sea of familiarity. Even her father, despite his seasoned acquaintance with the wizarding realm, appeared to gaze upon their surroundings with a sense of marvel as if encountering them anew. For Reese, the world of wizardry presented a perplexing paradox—an amalgamation of the familiar and the foreign, a realm of enchantment interlaced with a disquieting undercurrent of unease.
Her attention was abruptly captured by a family of flaming red hair, bustling through the crowd. The gaggle of redheads seemed to be woven together by some invisible thread, trying to keep close in the tumultuous swarm of people. The vibrant hue of their hair was matched only by their energy, as they chatted and laughed with reckless abandon, seemingly unaware of the chaos around them.
Reese's eyes trailed them, glistening with curiosity as they came to a halt. A squat lady with rosy cheeks and an orange bob haircut tried to corral the kids, giving each a farewell kiss on the cheek before they boarded the train.
Reese's gaze meandered, drawn by an irresistible force, until it locked onto the squinting gaze of a young ginger girl, who shuffled cautiously beside her mother. The girl's face, adorned with a sprinkling of freckles, contorted into an awkward smile as she nervously toyed with her short hair, mirroring the fiery locks of her mother. Reese chose to feign indifference, averting her gaze and casting her attention elsewhere as she nervously palmed the few cool coins in her pockets.
Retrieving a book from the front pouch of her luggage, Reese cradled it in her grasp, drawing it close as if seeking solace within its pages. Nestling her knees against her chest, she surrendered herself to the gentle sway and rhythmic hum of the train, hoping to find respite within the written word. Yet, despite her valiant efforts to immerse herself in the printed text, her mind persistently strayed, tendrils of thoughts reaching out towards the unfamiliar world that lay just beyond the train's confines. The unfamiliarity of it all gnawed at her core, tugging at her insides like a persistent ache. She had scarcely made it through half a page when a timid knock on the glass compartment door jolted her senses, causing her head to snap up in a state of alarm.
The door of the compartment slid open, revealing a brunette girl with tightly coiled curls in a state of disarray. Her narrowed eyes betrayed a sense of focused concentration, accompanied by a posture that exuded an air of pretentiousness. Bracing her hands on either side, she commanded attention as she entered the space.
"Hello," she greeted, her gaze fixed intently on Reese, waiting for a reciprocal greeting. "Are you sitting here alone? Mind if I join you?"
Reese shrugged with a nonchalant head shake and the girl made herself comfortable on the seat across from her, taking it upon herself to move Reese’s trunk.
"Are you looking forward to going to Hogwarts? I sure am. My mum and dad are Muggles, so I'm anexpert or anything. I can't wait to learn everything there is to know about the wizarding world! Diagon Alley was already so much to take in! You could imagine my parents' surprise when they saw the supplies list—oh, they are Muggles. Did I mention that?"
She paused only because she couldn't fit any more words into one breath, sentences spilling out like a river bursting its banks.
"You don't talk much, do you?" She tilted her head once more, looking at Reese curiously.
Reese forced an easy smile and shrugged.
"Oh, well, what's your name?"
"Reese."
"Reese. Nice to meet you, I'm Hermione Granger." She extended her hand for Reese to shake and she took it.
A kaleidoscope of sunlight danced upon the windowpane, casting shimmering beams of golden radiance upon Reese's lap. Her eyes, filled with a longing that transcended the confines of the train compartment, scanned the bustling platform in a desperate attempt to catch a final glimpse of her father. Each ray of light penetrated the glass barrier, casting a warm and tender glow that seemed to caress her skin, yet failed to alleviate the heaviness in her head. Amidst the beauty of the sun's embrace, Hermione's voice melted into the background, a faint murmur that echoed in the caverns of Reese's mind.
A sense of profound disappointment washed over her when she beheld her father's designated spot on the platform, a void devoid of his familiar presence, swallowed by the thick shroud of smoke that emanated from the now departing train. The engine roared to life, a thunderous symphony of power and motion, as the train surged forward.
"What are you reading?" Hermione inquired nosily, raising her chin and leaning on the edge of her seat to take a peek. Reese turned the book over to show her the cover.
Hermione's inquisitive gaze lingered upon the cover of the book, her brown eyes narrowing as she attempted to decipher its title. With an air of curiosity, she leaned forward, perched delicately upon the edge of her seat, as if eager to catch a glimpse of the literary realm that had captured Reese's attention. "Hm, interesting. Is that a fiction?"
"Yeah. You've read it?" Reese asked, finally perking, and Hermione shook her head, a slight tsk escaping her lips.
"Afraid not. I don't care for fictional books much; I'm more for factual texts, aren't you?—" Reese opened her mouth, but she kept going, "—Goodness, I'm not even sure how many books I've read. Quite a lot of them. I've been very interested in the history books for Hogwarts—started the day I got my acceptance letter! Such a momentous occasion, don't you agree?" Hermione's words spilled forth, an animated torrent of enthusiasm that seemed to overflow with her unquenchable thirst for knowledge.
Reese nodded, offering a subdued "mhm" in response. In truth, the prospect of stepping into an unfamiliar realm, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, stirred a mixture of apprehension and unease within her.
When it came to people, anyway, friendships had been few and far between. Everyone she had met in primary school took one glance at Reese and attributed her rough, weathered visage to a life of illicit exploits. For a couple of those years, widespread rumors had given Reese the unearned and untrue reputation of being some sort of gang member, given her rough, weather-beaten, scarrish skin—she couldn't help but find the whole ordeal somewhat comical, an absurdity that bordered on the surreal.
She felt sorry for her half-baked responses, but Hermione seemed to have enough to say for the both of them.
"If you don't mind—what are those, erm, scratches?" Hermione asked with trepidation, pointing slightly at the scars that marred Reese’s cheek before looking at her hand and immediately retracting her extended finger, quite mortified.
Reese squirmed in her seat, the memories of the incident rushing back to her like a tidal wave. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms, the physical pain a momentary distraction from the emotional turmoil that threatened to engulf her.
As Reese was lost in contemplation, the sudden intrusion of a loud and frantic knock on the compartment door startled her out of her thoughts.
"Hello? Excuse me but I—erm, have either of you seen my toad?" A pudgy, round-faced boy with short, brown hair stood uneasily in the doorway. Hermione and Reese looked at each other, shook their heads, then looked back at the boy. His frown deepened, his worry evident.
"No... we haven't," Hermione offered sympathetically, tilting her head in curiosity. "Why on Earth are you looking for a—"
"Trevor is my toad and I need to find him!"
"I'd be happy to help look for him." Hermione stood with hop and a satisfied smile on her face, adjusting her robes. The boy's gratitude overflowed with effusive thanks, and they departed together to scour the train in search of the missing toad. Reese, however, chose to remain behind, relishing the newfound quietude.
But she didn't. Though her eyes skimmed the text, their dance was but a mere illusion, for her mind was adrift, carried away by a tide of contemplation. Her fingers held the book, but her thoughts drifted elsewhere. She couldn't help but wonder how much better her life would really be there. The words on the page blurred and merged, their distinct identities fading into a tapestry of uncertainty. In that suspended pause, Reese pondered the sacrifices she would have to make, the delicate balance between solitude and acceptance, and whether the prospect of leaving behind the only person who truly knew her, just to join a new assemblage of people who wouldn't quite understand what she was, was a sacrifice worth undertaking. The thought swirled in the depths of her consciousness, casting doubt upon the allure of new things and a sense of belonging that remained untested.
The reverberations of Dumbledore's words, his voice tinged with earnest persuasion, echoed in Reese's mind. Hogwarts, he had claimed, possessed an unparalleled atmosphere of acceptance, a sanctuary for those who dared to be different. Yet, as she grappled with her doubts, skepticism seeped into the crevices of her thoughts like an insidious whisper. Would her uniqueness be shielded from prying eyes, or would it become an additional burden she was compelled to bear? For seven long years, she would need to navigate the delicate dance of hiding, a masquerade that demanded relentless vigilance.
"Knock, knock," Someone sang, and the door slid open once more. Reese glanced upward.
Leaning against the doorway, stood a dark-skinned boy with short, brown hair and black robes that hung loosely from his body, his inky eyelashes spilling across his bronze cheeks when he blinked.
"You don't mind if I sit here, do you? I would've stayed in my compartment, but they all were just talking about Quilludge, and I don't care much for that." He offered, plopping down into Hermione's former seat.
"Quilludge?" Reese asked, puzzled.
"Something like that. Did I say it wrong? Couldn't make sense of all the fuss."
"I don't think I—"
"It's a sport, isn't it?"
"Oh, you mean Quidditch?"
"Yes, Quidditch, that's what it's called! It was driving me mad." He revelated, flaring his arms in the air.
Reese's lips curved in a weak smile as he propped his feet up on the seat beside her. "Not a fan of Quidditch, then?" she asked, eyebrows pinched, and he shrugged.
His response was tinged with a hint of apprehension. "I've never even heard of it until today—my parents are muggles." His words hung in the air, as if he expected them to alter the course of their budding friendship. She hummed in understanding, her book now closed and tucked into the cushion of the train seat.
With curiosity dancing in his eyes, he leaned back slightly, arms crossed. "And what about your folks?"
"Father's a wizard," she replied succinctly, a sense of restraint veiling her words. She didn't delve into her mother's potential wizardry, a realm of uncertainty she preferred to keep unexplored.
Subdued and fidgeting, Reese became absorbed in the hem of her sweater, content to let the conversation breathe. The atmosphere shifted as a rush of air heralded Hermione's return, her excitement palpable.
"All right, so, I didn't find the toad, but you will never believe it, Reese!" Hermione exclaimed, jumping back into her former seat across from her, just in time for the boy to hastily scoot over, so as not to get crushed.
"Guess who I just ran into—" she was about to, but Hermione interrupted, "Harry Potter!"
As she waited for mutual excitement, she was about to explode out of her seat. Hermione's face dropped at their lack of reaction.
"Come on! Harry Potter, remember? The Boy Who Lived?" Hermione prompted. The boy looked over at Reese, his brows knitted together in bemusement.
"Do you know what she's talking about?"
Reese shrugged one shoulder. "Vaguely."
Amidst Hermione's breathless exclamations, Reese's thoughts were interrupted by a name that reverberated through her consciousness: Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. The name held an almost mythical quality, and she could sense the weight of its significance in the room. Reese could recall the face of Harry's father in old photographs among her father's photo books, and the resemblance between the two Potters was uncanny.
"Excuse me, who are you?" Hermione urged the boy on her side with her arms crossed, her eagerness lessening by the second.
"Dean Thomas," he proudly introduced, his posture slack in nonchalance. He grinned when Hermione stuck her hand out in a professional manner.
"Hermione Granger,"
As the train journey continued, Reese struggled with what she was reading; her eyes moving across the same paragraph over and over. It felt as if nerves were eating her alive, and anxiety gnawed at her, consuming her thoughts.
The weight of the upcoming full moon hung heavily on Reese's shoulders, casting a shadow of uncertainty over her thoughts. The absence of her father, their shared routines and the sense of security he provided, felt like an irreplaceable void. She had timidly expressed her concerns to him before, voicing her worry about facing the moon's transformative power without him by her side. In response, he had tried to reassure her, his voice infused with fatherly warmth, assuring her that she was in good hands. The Headmaster, with an air of unwavering confidence, had promised that he had everything under control, his enthusiasm meant to instill a sense of reassurance within her. Yet, as the days ticked away and the moon's ascent grew nearer, a flicker of doubt and vulnerability remained, tugging at her.
As Hermione spoke of her unwavering ambition to become a great witch, regardless of her blood status, Reese began to listen intently.
"It's preposterous to assume that one's blood status defines their magical abilities. Anyone can become a great wizard if they wanted...right?" Hermione declared.
"Anyone?" Reese blurted, turning to look up from her book. Her query hung in the air, enticing Hermione and Dean to consider the notion further.
"I suppose, within reason—" Hermione replied carefully before Dean pitched in.
"Why not? It's not like you need a license, right?" He waved his hand carelessly, his words barely coherent as he chewed on a licorice wand that he'd snagged from the candy trolley moments before.
"Actually, you need a license to Apparate, and all Animagi need to be registered and licensed, and—"
"Ah, right, certainly, all of that," Dean dismissed Hermione. Reese's grin grew wider at Dean's noncommittal response, finding solace in his laid-back attitude that mirrored her own burgeoning sense of liberation. A small ember of ambition was ignited within her.
"Wait," Hermione froze, squinting at the train window, "Look! We're nearing the train station!"
Reese's nimble fingers rummaged through the front pocket of her luggage, retrieving her slightly crumpled robes. She swiftly donned them, straightening the fabric with an air of purpose. As the rhythmic chugging of the train gradually diminished, signaling its impending arrival, Dean's confusion deepened. It was evident that Hermione had immersed herself in meticulous research, leaving no stone unturned when it came to Hogwarts and its myriad wonders. In contrast, Dean also hailed from a muggle background but possessed only a hazy understanding of what lay in store for them within the castle's hallowed halls.
As the train pulled to a creaky halt, uncertainty weighed heavily upon them. "Where're we supposed to go?" Dean's furrowed brow mirrored his skepticism as he sought guidance amidst the sea of disembarking students. Reese, devoid of answers, could only offer a shrug of her shoulders, leaving Hermione to assume the role of leader.
"Firs' years! This way, please! Firs' years, over here!"
"Well, come along, then!" Hermione prodded, waving her hand to beckon them and rushing to take her spot at the front of the litter with confident ease.
Reese, her book now hastily stowed away within her trunk, rose in tandem with Dean, their synchronized motions akin to their shared anticipation. They followed the stream of students, their footsteps blending with the hum of excited chatter as they made their way out of the compartment and onto the platform.
"Goodness," Hermione's gasp escaped her lips in a breathless whisper, infused with awe and wonder, as they emerged from the train's confines. Their collective attention was captivated by the sight of a towering figure, his silhouette etched against the canvas of the night sky. Reese's eyes, too, gravitated towards this imposing presence, which stood tall and commanding, like a sentinel overseeing the realm.
The moon, casting its low glow, joined forces with the faint flicker of lamplight to illuminate the man's face. It revealed a visage both weathered and enigmatic, framed by a tangle of messy hair that formed an unruly crown, obscuring his beady eyes and casting shadows upon his heavy brows.
"The name's Rubeus Hagrid," he bellowed, his voice resounding through the night, like the deep rumble of thunder that echoed across the expanse. His words, carried on the wind, reached the eager ears of the young students, mingling with the gentle rustling of leaves as they embarked on their journey down the rugged, untamed path. Towering trees stood sentinel on either side, their shadowy forms dancing and swaying in synchrony with the enchanting breeze, whispering secrets known only to the ancient woods.
As they traversed the path, anticipation hung thick in the air, blending with a sense of awe and reverence. And then, as if orchestrated by magic itself, the grandeur of Hogwarts revealed itself in all its splendor. A synchronous chorus of 'Oooh' escaped from the lips of the students, their voices harmonizing with the whispers of the wind.
As Reese beheld the sight before her, her very words eluded her grasp. Hogwarts Castle, bathed in the gentle glow of the moonlight, appeared like a mirage suspended in time. Its majestic form, rising from the earth with an air of grandeur, stood as a testament to the extraordinary craftsmanship of wizarding architecture. Every delicate contour, every intricate detail had been meticulously sculpted with the precision of a master's hand. The castle seemed to possess a life of its own, as if it had emerged from the realm of dreams and legends, radiating an otherworldly beauty that defied mortal comprehension.
The stillness of the glassy, obsidian lake mirrored the magnificence of the castle, its tranquil waters serving as a pristine canvas upon which the reflection of Hogwarts danced in shimmering ripples. A golden aura enveloped the scene, casting an ethereal glow that highlighted the castle's splendor. Silvery wisps of clouds drifted lazily across the heavens, like celestial brushstrokes in a painting of divine artistry. The stars, meticulously placed in the velvet sky, twinkled with an enchanting brilliance, as if celebrating the union of magic and the heavens.
By her side, Dean slowed his steps, his eyes fixed on the majestic edifice.
"Bloody hell—I think this is worth suffering through Quilludge."